


Recipe for Disaster

by sconesandtextingandmurder



Category: Check Please! (Webcomic)
Genre: Awkward Jack, First Kiss, M/M, angry baking, passive aggressive baking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-22
Updated: 2016-04-22
Packaged: 2018-06-03 20:56:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6625999
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sconesandtextingandmurder/pseuds/sconesandtextingandmurder
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It starts with something that is decidedly not pie.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Recipe for Disaster

It starts with something that is decidedly not pie.

When Chowder arrives at the Haus to the smell of cinnamon wafting from the kitchen, he dumps his backpack in the den and goes to investigate. But where he expects to encounter golden brown pie crust, maybe with the filling still steaming through artfully cut vents, he instead discovers a banged-up metal loaf pan sitting on a wire rack. Ransom and Holster are already in the kitchen eyeing it suspiciously.

“Hi guys!” Chowder moves in for a closer look. “Hey, Bitty, what did you make today?”

“Zucchini bread,” he announces in somewhat clipped tones.

“Trying something new? That’s cool. My mom makes a really good zucchini bread.” Chowder looks curiously at Rans and Holster who seem to be keeping a safe distance between themselves and the pan. He feels their eyes follow him around the kitchen while he nabs a knife from the drawer. “Can I try some?”

“Sure,” Bitty says, his back to them as he scrubs a mixing bowl. “It’s good for you.”

“Yeah that’s the thing,” Rans says in a rush. “Since when did you start making things that are good for us?”

“No one said you have to eat it.” With a snap, Bitty whips the dishtowel from where it’s slung over his shoulder and vigorously dries the bowl.

Ransom looks as If he’s been slapped. As he opens his mouth to respond, Holster puts a comforting hand on his arm, shaking his head. Whatever’s going on with Bitty, there’s no need to escalate it.

In the meantime, Chowder cuts himself a thick slab and takes a big bite. He chews thoughtfully then chews and chews some more before swallowing thickly. “My mom usually adds a bunch of chocolate chips but this is… good too.” With Bitty now watching him, he breaks off another (much smaller) piece to eat. “I’m gonna take it and go do my homework.” He makes a beeline out of the kitchen.

***

The next day remains pie-less, but if the big pan of freshly-baked brownies is any indication, things are looking up. The rich, chocolatey smell is enough to lure a crowd to the kitchen where they wait for Bitty to give the ok.

At Bitty’s cursory nod, Shitty pulls rank and grabs the knife, cutting a hearty square for himself. He insists the other boys form an orderly line and, setting his own brownie safely aside, he cuts pieces for everyone else. Dex arrives just in time to get in the end of the line, where he would’ve been placed anyhow, and he takes the offered brownie eagerly.

The kitchen falls silent as they all begin to eat. Dex, having been absent from the Haus the day before is filled with carefree enthusiasm and crams half the brownie in his mouth. He chews a few times before his eyebrows pull together in consternation as he tries to put his finger on what’s wrong with them. Still chewing, Dex glances around the room to see if he’s the only one not in on the joke and finds everyone else eating, weak smiles plastered on their faces as Bitty leans against the sink glaring at them as if daring them to say something. Dex examines the piece still in his hand and figures it out.

“Thanks, Bitty,” Chowder finally says because his mother raised him to have excellent manners.

“Yeah, thanks,” comes a chorus of other unconvincing mutters.

Satisfied, Bitty leaves the kitchen.

He’s barely out the door before Dex cracks. “The _fuck_? Are there _raisins_ in these brownies?”

Ransom and Holster wear matching, horrified expressions. Shitty continues to chew contemplatively.

“Who _does_ that?” Dex asks in dismay.

“Shut up,” Shitty says, tossing the rest of his brownie in the trash.

But poor Dex is too traumatized to let it drop. “I don’t get it. Bitty is good at baking. He’s _always_ good at it. It’s his _thing_. But these?” He lowers his voice almost to a whisper. “Are _not good_.”

Shitty runs a hand through his flow, but it gives him no satisfaction under these circumstances. The rest of the guys are lost, looking to him for leadership. He needs to rise to the occasion.

“Apparently Bitty is going through…some sort of…phase,” he begins. “But remember that he does all of this out of the goodness of his heart. If you don’t like it, then don’t eat it. And for God’s sake keep your fucking traps shut.” They all side-eye Dex who looks properly contrite. “I’m sure he’ll be back to normal soon.”

“Shouldn’t we at least warn the other guys about the raisins?” Holster suggests. “It seems like the right thing to do.”

“I’d want to know,” Ransom adds. “I wish I _had_ known.”

Shitty nods his agreement. “I’ll put out a group text.”

 *** 

The next day seems promising and the team meets the buttery scent of fresh pound cake with cautious optimism. Bitty doesn’t even bother to stay in the kitchen as it cools and Dex is assigned guard duty to watch for his return while Holster cuts into the cake and examines it like he’s trying to identify each molecule.

“We’re safe,” he announces and the rest of the gang visibly relaxes. Slabs of cake are cut and offered around and somehow a tacit agreement to wait and taste it together has spread throughout the group.

Ransom holds his up like he’s toasting them and they all take a bite, smiling as the sweet vanilla flavor hits their tongues. A few more moments and the smiles devolve into grimaces and coughing. The cake is over-baked, turning into sawdust-like crumbs in their mouths. One by one they drop their pieces into the trash can and shuffle sadly out of the kitchen.

Lardo pulls a couple of paper towels from the roll and crumples them up to cover the discarded cake while Shitty leans against the counter, lost in thought.

“I watched him make it,” Lardo confides. “He dumped the ingredients in and ran the mixer, just staring off into space. There’s something really off with him.”

Shitty rubs his hand over his face, reluctantly admitting the truth in Lardo’s words.

Shaking her head sadly, Lardo continues. “Usually he’s all about the details, like the perfect little crust cut-outs, you know? He loves the precision of making pies, the creativity. Now he’s making pound cake, Shitty. _Pound cake_. There’s no technique, no finesse. He’s lost his joy.”

The rest of the Haus is uncharacteristically quiet. No laughing, no talking. Just morose, dessert-less hockey players.

“It’s bringing down the whole team,” Lardo points out. “I’m afraid it’s going to carry over to the ice and we can’t have that. As captain, maybe Jack needs to get involved.”

Shitty thinks back to the last time he saw Bitty happy in the kitchen. He’d been baking a pie, that much he was sure of, and he searches his memory for any details that might explain the change. Bitty had been chirping Jack about the pie, about how there wasn’t even a bit of fruit in it to redeem it, making a show of dumping the entire bag of brown sugar into the mixing bowl.

Jack had taken it good-naturedly, telling Bitty that he didn’t understand the way they did things in Quebec. Bitty had laughed, bringing a hand to his chest in mock offense. “I am doing my best to build a bridge across our cultural differences, _mon amie_.”

“I’ll talk to Jack,” Shitty promises.

He finds Jack closed in his room and knocks on the door, even as he’s still trying to figure out what to say. When Jack opens the door, Shitty catches the flicker of disappointment in his eyes before he replaces it with the familiar, inscrutable look.

“I don’t know what you did to Bitty,” he begins.

Jack blinks and, if Shitty’s not mistaken, the tips of his ears go pink.

“But _fix it,”_ Shitty says, then turns on his heel for his own room.

 ***

Jack, coward that he is when it comes to Bitty, gives it one more day with the hope that things will magically return to normal. He hears Bitty in the kitchen after classes but whatever he’s baking leaves an almost acrid smell so he braces himself with a few calming breaths and ventures down the steps. In the hall, Ransom and Holster are passing something back and forth with their sticks.

Jack stops, paralyzed by the sight. “Is that…”

Holster gives the “puck” a solid whack. “Protein cookies, Jack. Made with whole wheat flour and mashed black beans.” The cookie skids intact to Ransom who taps it right back.

Heart pounding, Jack steps past them and into the kitchen. Two trays of cookies sit on the tables, mostly untouched.

Bitty shuts off the sink and turns to regard Jack. How he manages to look so intimidating in an apron, Jack will never understand.

“Jack,” he says with a false sweetness that makes Jack’s blood run cold, “I made some nice, healthy cookies. Full of protein.” He crosses the kitchen and holds out one of the trays. “I’m sure you’ll approve.”

Jack opens and closes his mouth a few times. “I believe I owe you an apology, but—“

“Stop right there.” Bitty rattles the tray back onto the cooling rack. “If you don’t even know why, then I don’t want to hear it.”

Dropping heavily into one of the kitchen chairs, Jack sits with his shoulders slumped forward. “I don’t understand, Bittle. You made me that pie and everything was good and I don’t know where it went wrong.”

“You liked the pie?” Bitty has his arms crossed over his chest.

“Of course I did.”

“Really?” Bitty’s voice is dripping with sarcasm. “You had _one_ piece so that wasn’t the impression I got.”

Jack stares at him. “I would’ve eaten the whole thing. It was delicious but I didn’t want to assume it was all for me.”

Bitty rolls his eyes. “It was an authentic Quebec sugar pie, Jack. Who did you think it was for?”

Jack gets up and paces around the kitchen. “Bittle, you went out of your way to bake me a special pie and you didn’t have to do that and…and I didn’t know what to do with that.“

“So why didn’t you say that, instead?” Bitty is still coiled tight, the hurt in him threatening to boil over and it twists inside Jack unpleasantly because Jack knows exactly what he said. The same thing he always says when he doesn’t know what to say to Bitty. _Eat more protein_. Only this time it backfired big time.

Jack keeps his eyes on the floor. “I should have. I’m sorry.”

Bitty studies him silently for a long moment and Jack worries that this can’t be undone. That his inability to open up has cost him Bitty’s easy, unguarded affection. Even if all they were ever going to be was friends, Jack doesn’t want to lose that.

Jack slowly meets his eyes and Bitty’s posture relaxes as the fight goes out of him. Bitty shrugs one shoulder at Jack, waving a dismissive hand at him and giving him a partial smile. “It was just a pie, Jack.” He turns back to the sink.

Jack crosses the kitchen in a few long strides to put a hand on Bitty’s shoulder and turn him around. “It was more than that and I should have thanked you properly.”

Before he can give himself time to overthink it, he bends and kisses Bitty. It’s soft and tentative until Bitty grabs at his shirt with both hands to pull him closer and turns it into a kiss that’s both forgiveness and a promise for more.

They break apart a few moments later at the sound of footsteps. Shitty appears in the doorway soon after. He looks between the two of them and then over to the trays of cookies. “All sorted?”

Jack smiles shyly at Bitty. “All sorted.”

Blushing, Bitty smiles back as he pulls the butter out of the fridge.

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Full disclosure: I grew up eating brownies with raisins in them. My siblings and I didn't like nuts so my raisin-loving mother found a substitution to her liking. I was probably in high school before I realized that this was not a common way to make brownies.


End file.
